Canada Day
by IcarusWing
Summary: What started as the worst birthday turned out to be the best.


**A/N: Happy birthday, Canada! I don't own Hetalia. **

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Canada had always hated being forgotten, but today, it was worse than usual.

He was sitting at the head of the table in an empty conference room, his head resting on his polar bear—what was his name? Kumakichi? Kumaneko? He had woken up extra early in order to be the first to the meeting room, made sure his tie was on straight, his hair was brushed to a golden sheen, and he didn't have any visible maple syrup stains. He had gotten to the meeting fifteen minutes early, but there he was, two hours later, and no one had shown up.

Canada sighed. He was used to being forgotten, but on his birthday? Usually Cuba visited, at least. America and France, if they remembered, and sometimes even England…

But today, there was no one.

He stood. There was really no point in waiting around for countries that would never show up, was there? He'd go home, change into something more comfortable—he really hated suits—and wander the streets, celebrating with his people, who never forgot.

That was the plan, until the door banged open and someone shouted his name across the room.

"CANADA!"

America bounded in, carrying two white cardboard boxes. He was followed by what looked like the rest of the world, who steamed in, carrying similar boxes and covered in what looked like flour stains.

"Hey, bro! Sorry we're late, but see, the plane carrying the stuff we got you crashed and we couldn't just show up with nothing so we borrowed one of your IHOPs. I made you some pancakes!" America ginned brightly, offering him the boxes. "I made England's share, too, 'cause he burnt his batch."

"I—they were supposed to be like that!"

"Hon hon hon, I don't think _cher_ Canada would have enjoyed food poisoning very much, _Angleterre," _said France, who had snuck up behind England and snaked his hands around his waist.

"They were fine! And don't touch me, frog!"

America laughed, ignoring the other country's splutters. "Anyway, c'mon, bro, what're you standing there for? Sit down and eat some pancakes!"

Canada remained frozen, intensely confused. What was going on? Why had everyone made him pancakes? Had they actually…

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked over to see Cuba, a cigar between his teeth. "I reminded them about your birthday yesterday," he said, blowing a ring of smoke. "America made calls to everyone—and I mean _everyone—_so they all bought you gifts, and loaded them onto a plane, but it crashed. So he…" Cuba paused here, searching for the best word for what America had done. "He _commandeered _the kitchen of a pancakes restaurant. So congratulations. You have two hundred batches of pancakes to eat today."

Canada looked at his brother, and smiled, taking the pancakes. "Thank you, America."

America took his hand and dragged him over to the enormous table, forcing him into a seat before sitting next to him. "Today's your special day, so everyone's going to party and pay attention to you and feed you pancakes all day long and then we're going to go out and see the fireworks!" He said all of this in one breath, pumping his fist in the air.

"Or," growled Cuba, on his other side, "we can do what _Canada _wants to do."

"No no," Canada squeaked. "Fireworks… fireworks sound great."

He felt slightly light headed. He hadn't had this much attention paid to him since his colony days. It felt…

It felt great.

Countries began dropping off their boxes of pancakes on the table in front of him, and they all smelled different, the recipe being unique to each nation. Russia's box was particularly large, and topped with a sunflower. "Happy birthday, Kanada," he said, his smile warmer than usual.

"Hey, Canada!" said Finland, who had wandered over. "I made you some _Veriohukaiset!"_

"I—thank you, Finland, but why are they _black?" _

"Oh, that's because of the pig's blood!" he said, smiling serenely.

Canada made a mental note to get rid of those when no one was looking.

Suddenly, he heard a small voice. "Happy birthday, Canada!"

Canada gasped. "Ku—Kumajirou? You know who I am?"

The bear plopped himself down on his lap and repeated his earlier words.

Canada smiled once again, listening to the hustle and bustle around him as the meeting turned into a party.

Maybe this would turn out to be a good birthday after all.

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**A/N: Veriohukaiset, as you may have guessed, is a sort of Finnish pancake. Made with pig's blood. XD I can just imagine America taking over an IHOP... I feel bad for the workers. XD**


End file.
